Pax Galactica. Enemies become allies. Old secrets are at last revealed. Long-held beliefs and widely accepted truths are challenged. Man turns to leisurely pursuits.
In this golden age, two old friends are drawn together. They seek to understand, and wonder how what they have long believed, what they have been taught, was never so.
Over two hundred years ago, the life of one of Starfleet's earliest pioneers came to a tragic end, and Captain Jonathan Archer, the legendary commander of Earth's first warp-five starship, lost a close friend. Or so it seemed for many years. But with the passage of time, and the declassification of certain crucial files, the truth about that fateful day -- the day that Commander Charles "Trip" Tucker III didn't die -- could finally be revealed.
Why did Starfleet feel it was necessary to rewrite history? And why only now can the truth be told?
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Pocket Books/Star Trek
February 01, 2007
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Excerpt from The Star Trek: Enterprise: The Good That Men Do by Michael A. Martin
Day Five, Month of Tasmeen
Unroth III, Romulan space
Doctor Ehrehin i'Ramnau tr'Avrak stood before the research complex's vast panoramic window, listening to the control center's background wash of electronic chirps, beeps, and drones as he looked out over the remote firing site where the prototype would shortly thrum to life. For the past several days, every console in the cramped control center had shown reassuring shades of orange, with hardly a hint of the green hues that Romulans tended to associate with blood and danger. The only green the elderly scientist had seen since his arrival here more than ten of this world's lengthy rotations ago was that of the carpet of forest that spread from the base of the gently rolling hillside beyond and below the control facility's perimeter walls, all the way to Unroth III's flat, eerily close horizon.
Unlike most of his research staff, Doctor Ehrehin was unwilling to keep his gaze perpetually averted from the sea of greenery that lay beyond the control room windows. But he also refused to allow the forest's alarming hues to unnerve him, concentrating instead on the soothing, ruddy light of the planet's primary star, which hugged the forest canopy as it made its preternaturally slow descent toward evening. Despite the low angle of the diffraction-bloated sun, several long dierha remained before the wilderness outside would become fully enshrouded in darkness.
"It is time, Doctor," said Cunaehr, Ehrehin's most valued research assistant. "Are you ready to begin the test?"
His gaze still lingering on the forest that sprawled beyond the window, Ehrehin offered Cunaehr a dry, humorless chuckle. A better question would be, Is the prototype finally ready to begin the test? he thought, leaving the query unspoken lest he draw the unfavorable attention of the malevolent cosmic force that sometimes caused field tests to go awry in new and unexpected ways.
"I have my instructions, Cunaehr," Ehrehin replied, keeping his reedy voice pitched only barely above the room's background noises. "The admiralty is watching from orbit, and they have ordered me to be ready by now. And so we are. Please prepare to initiate the test on my signal."
"Immediately, Doctor," Cunaehr said. Ehrehin knew without turning that his assistant was hastening back to his own console.
Ehrehin considered the bird-of-prey that now circled this remote planet, and wondered whether or not the admiralty truly expected today's test to succeed. Then he banished the thought, refusing to allow the military's obvious reticence about posting any of their people on the surface to threaten his composure. In fact, the notion that a prototype field test could make the admiralty look unnecessarily fearful had quite the opposite effect on him, buoying his spirits and increasing his confidence.
Steadying himself against the neutronium-reinforced concrete wall into which the window was set, Ehrehin turned to face his associates, all of whom were busy either running or monitoring several semicircular rows of consoles. Despite his recurrent misgivings about the military-enforced pace of his team's research, he realized that he was waging a losing battle against the triumphant grin that was already beginning to spread across his lined, weathered face.
Standing beside his console, Cunaehr ran his fingers through his perpetually tousled, jet-black hair in yet another vain attempt to tame it. He cleared his throat loudly, quickly capturing the attention of the science outpost's thirteen other research personnel. All of the project's staffers now stood alert at their stations, the staccato rhythm of their professional conversations momentarily halted, their usually busy hands now stilled above their consoles, their eyes turned toward Doctor Ehrehin in silent anticipation of his words.